Medicus mi-1

by Ruth Downie

  "Slim, about five feet four inches," continued his companion as if they were quoting from something. "Hold out your arm, gorgeous."

  Tilla slid the sack off her shoulder and held out her left arm.

  "The other one."

  Her left hand darted inside the cloak and tugged down the offending sleeve before she reached out her right arm. "If you touch me," she said, "my master will have you punish."

  A sword swished out of its scabbard. A blade glinted in front of her.

  Its tip plucked back the fabric of her sleeve, revealing the dirty linen bandage.

  "I think you're the one who gets to be 'punish,' gorgeous." Both horses were circling her now. "We're the ones who get the reward."

  Tilla let the sack fall, grabbed her skirts, and dodged through the gap between the two horses. Leaping across the ditch, she scrambled up onto the rough grass and raced toward the woods. If she could just get between the trees, she stood a chance…

  Over the rasp of her own breath she heard cheering. Then the approach of hoofbeats. There was a horse cantering on either side of her now. She slowed: They slowed. She speeded up: They increased their pace. The men were laughing. Playing with her. She stopped dead, spun around, and ran back the other way, but it was hopeless. There was no cover ahead of her now: only the open road. The thud of hooves on turf surrounded her once more. The horses were crowding her. Hands reached down and flung her cloak back over her shoulders. "Now!" shouted one of the men. She ducked. Too late. They grabbed her under both arms and scooped her up with a swift, practiced movement. Legs flailing helplessly, boots brushing the tips of the grasses, she dangled between the two horsemen as their mounts cantered back to the road.

  71

  Truso should have gone straight to the hospital, but instead he hurried to the house and spent several minutes scratching notes onto a tablet, which he then thrust into the trunk with all the versions of the Concise Guide.

  Albanus was waiting for him with the look of anxiety that seemed to be his permanent expression lately. "Lots of people have been asking for you, sir. There's a line waiting in the hall."

  "Where's Valens?" Ruso was still breathless after sprinting from the house.

  "Officer Valens has been taking the urgent cases and telling the rest you'll be back any minute, sir. And Officer Priscus said you had an appointment with him-about the Aesculapian Thanksgiving Fund?"

  "Yes, I know about that one. Anything else?"

  "I need a word with you too, sir."

  "Is it urgent?"

  "Not really, sir."

  "Good. Let's get working on this line."

  He had almost emptied the bench in the hall when there was a commotion in the corridor and the door shuddered as someone fell against it. Ruso glanced up. "Put the bar across, Albanus, will you?"

  The clerk leaped to secure the door and Ruso carried on cleaning up a nastily torn ear as the shouting faded away down the corridor. "How did you get this?" he asked.

  "Over at the wrestling," explained its owner. "We're cheering our lad on and there was a bit of an exchange with some lads sitting behind, and next thing I know I'm upside down with somebody's boot kicking the side of my head."

  "Ah," said Ruso. "Sport. Always brings out the best in a man. Albanus, just poke your head into the corridor and make sure there's nobody lying dead out there, will you?"

  Moments later Albanus returned to report that some plasterers from the Twentieth had got into a dispute with a visiting crew of sailors. Knives were out before the centurial staff had been able to wade in and restore order. Now the wounded of both groups had been brought in for treatment and, having tried to carry on the fight in the corridor, had been sent to wait under guard in separate rooms.

  "Idiots," observed the man with the torn ear.

  "What a joy payday is," remarked Ruso. "I'll just pop a few stitches in this ear, then you can go and have a nice nap while I have the pleasure of meeting the navy"

  In fact it was Valens who dealt with the sailors while the plasterers were assigned to Ruso. Only one was seriously injured: a stab wound that had probably penetrated a lung. The man required some immediate and careful patching before he was admitted for observation, nursing care, and an outcome whose uncertainty would have frightened him if he had been sober. The others he released into the care of their centurion, who looked willing to inflict a few injuries himself if anyone showed any more signs of misbehaving.

  "We'll be seeing that group lined up outside HQ tomorrow," observed Ruso as they left. "What's next?"

  " 'Evening, Ruso." Valens appeared around the door in a gruesomely bloodstained tunic. "Good of you to turn up."

  "Nice outfit," Ruso observed.

  "Don't insult me; I've taken time off from my onerous duties to bring you some news. They've found Tilla."

  "Where? Is she all right? Where is she?"

  Valens shrugged. "According to my sources, a road patrol found her taking a stroll eight or nine miles out of town."

  "Where is she? Is she all right?"

  "I imagine they've taken her to Priscus in the hope of a reward. As advertised."

  A dreadful thought crossed Ruso's mind. "To Priscus?"

  "That is what it said on the advertisements, isn't it?"

  Ruso turned to Albanus. "What time is it?"

  "I think I heard the eleventh hour just now, sir."

  "Is the cashier's office still open?"

  Albanus frowned. "I doubt it, sir. They'll have locked up some time ago and gone to the sports."

  "Tell the next patient to wait a minute. I need to go and see Priscus."

  Ruso sprinted along the corridor, narrowly missing a collision with a couple of orderlies carrying a man on a stretcher. When he reached the office, it was locked. One of the records room clerks informed him that Officer Priscus had been called away The clerk's tone suggested that it was very convenient for Officer Priscus to be called away early on payday while everyone else had to stay behind and work.

  "Where are the records for the Aesculapian fund?"

  The clerk looked surprised. "In Officer Priscus's room, sir."

  "And if someone wanted to make a payment while he was out?"

  "We'd tell him to come back tomorrow, sir. We aren't allowed to handle cash. We don't have the facilities."

  Valens had gone by the time Ruso got back to his surgery. "Albanus," he said, "I need to get at the records of the Aesculapian fund. I need to, uh-find out how much I owe. I was supposed to pay it back today and I haven't had time."

  Albanus frowned. "They'll be in the administrator's office, sir. Nobody can get in there."

  Ruso looked him in the eye. "Is that definitely true, Albanus? Surely a man as thorough as Priscus would arrange for a spare key somewhere in case one got lost?"

  Albanus was chewing the end of his stylus. "I really couldn't say, sir. Officer Priscus wouldn't tell the clerks anything like that."

  "No, because he's a secretive bastard. But you know where it is, don't you?"

  "Sir, I really can't-"

  "Albanus, I am your superior officer and this is an order. Find a way to get me into that room."

  Albanus stood at attention. "Yes, sir!"

  "I'm sorry, sir. I don't think it's here."

  They had been through the whole of the Aesculapian Thanksgiving Fund file twice, the second time struggling to read by lamplight. Ruso sighed. "It's no use. He's taken it with him."

  "Is there anything I can do, sir? Shall I keep looking?"

  Ruso shook his head. "Put all this stuff away and lock up. I've got to go out for a while. I'll go and warn Valens he's on his own."

  Valens was predictably annoyed but unable to prevent his colleague from leaving.

  Making his way down to the south gate Ruso heard footsteps running along behind him in the darkness. "Doctor, sir!" gasped a breathless Albanus.

  "I'm in a hurry, Albanus. Can't it wait?"

  "No, sir, I don't think it can."

  "Walk
with me."

  The clerk fell into step with him. "Sir, you remember I said there was that one thing I needed to say to you?"

  "What was it?"

  "Well, sir, you know I went through all the incoming post logs looking for a letter from Saufeia and I didn't find one?"

  "You've found one?"

  "Not exactly, sir. But I thought, maybe it came in some other way and somebody replied to it. So I went back and looked through the outgoing logs instead."

  "And?"

  "And I found it. A letter to Saufeia. Dated two days before she died."

  "Is there a file copy?"

  "No, sir, just a listing in the log. Date, who to, who from."

  "And are you going to tell me who it was from, or do I have to guess?"

  "Yes, sir! No, sir! I'd be glad to tell you, sir. To tell you the truth I was a bit concerned."

  "Albanus, who is it?"

  Albanus told him. Ruso turned to look at the shadowy figure of his clerk. "Are you absolutely sure?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Who else knows about this?"

  "I haven't said anything to anybody else, sir."

  "Don't. Don't say anything to anyone unless…" Ruso hesitated. They were approaching the torches of the main gate now. A couple of men passed them in the dark. "Don't say anything unless I, uh-unless I appear to have got into difficulties tonight. If that happens, go to my house tomorrow morning and go through my documents very thoroughly. Then I want you to tell the whole damn province."

  72

  Let the doctor through!" roared a guard as the gates swung open and an untidy jumble of men surged in under the torchlit archway, eager to be out of the rain that was now cooling the payday fervor of the Twentieth. Ruso shouldered his way against the flow.

  "Let the doctor through!" echoed a second guard, helpfully shoving the nearest man aside and dragging Ruso forward.

  Once outside, he sprinted along the street, weaving in and out of groups of off-duty legionaries. Several were under escort and attempting to step smartly. A couple had abandoned their legs altogether and were being carried home by their comrades. The bars must be closing. So, this was civilized Britannia. A place where the army felt it could trust the locals enough to relax in their presence. Ruso was willing to bet that these sort of antics were not going on in the hill country.

  There was a rectangle of light around Priscus's front door but no one answered his knocking. He slammed the flat of his hand three times against the wooden paneling so the whole door shook. "Priscus! It's Ruso!"

  "Oy! You!" bellowed a voice from down the street. "Get away from that door!"

  Ruso slammed his hand against the door again. "Priscus! Open up!" He spun around to explain, "Doctor. Medical emergency," just as the pair of junior officers moved apart in the darkness to each grab an arm.

  "Name?" demanded one of them.

  He told them.

  "Where's your bag of tricks?"

  "I came straight here," said Ruso, truthfully enough.

  "Why aren't they letting you in, then?"

  "I don't know. This is definitely the house." He turned and hammered on the door again. "Priscus!"

  "There's someone in," observed one of the men, bending to try and peer through the gap at the side of the door. "There's a light. Perhaps he's too ill to get to the door."

  Ruso lifted one boot to crash it against the lock, but Priscus's house was made of stronger stuff than the linen closet. The door shuddered and held firm.

  "Don't you worry, Doc," one of the men assured him. "We'll get you in. Ready?"

  Moments later the three of them were picking themselves up from Priscus's door, which was now detached from its splintered frame and lying flat on the hall tiles.

  Insisting that he didn't need a stretcher team, he dismissed his helpers and strode down the hallway to where a figure-not the one he had expected-was standing with folded arms in the doorway of Priscus's living room.

  "Bassus! Where is she? What's he done with her?"

  "He can't see you," said Bassus, showing no sign of surprise at the unusual form of entry. "He's talking to me. Put the door back on your way out."

  The veteran's silhouette filled the narrow corridor. He was a fraction shorter than Ruso but a lot heavier, and he was a professional doorman. Ruso wished he had not dismissed his eager comrades in arms. If it came to a struggle, he was not going to get in.

  "The army won't let you sell her," he said. "He's trying to take her for the hospital fund."

  "Who?"

  "Tilla. He's found Tilla. Didn't he tell you?"

  From somewhere behind Bassus came a cry of "Doctor!" Surprisingly, Priscus sounded relieved that he had arrived.

  "Miserable bastard's not telling me anything," observed Bassus.

  "Yet."

  "She was picked up earlier today," said Ruso. "He's got her somewhere. Let me talk to him."

  Bassus appeared to think about it for a moment, then said, "Be my guest," and stepped aside to allow Ruso past.

  Priscus, hair awry, was huddled in one of the wicker chairs. He half rose to exclaim, "Doctor!" then shrank back into the chair as Bassus approached.

  "Pull up a seat," suggested Bassus, gesturing to a stool in the corner.

  "I haven't come here for a rest," retorted Ruso. "I've come to find my servant."

  "Suit yourself." Bassus flung himself into the second wicker chair. Priscus closed his eyes to shut out the sight of the doorman's large boots being planted on the delicate table.

  Underneath the table, the fruit bowl lay in pieces. Its contents rested where they had rolled across the floor. The servant was nowhere to be seen. Ruso, who had no idea what was going on and no time to find out, said, "Priscus, where's Tilla?"

  The administrator cleared his throat. "As steward of the Aesculapian fund-"

  "Where is she?"

  "As steward of the Aesculapian fund, I have a duty to…"

  Ruso's steps made a sharp sound on the tiled floor. Standing over Priscus, he emphasized each word. "Where is Tilla?"

  Priscus sat up in the chair and made an attempt to push his hair back into place. "As I have just been telling this… man," he said, glancing at Bassus, "I will not be bullied. The girl is in a safe place and I must remind you that following default of a loan repayment, I have a perfect right as steward of-"

  "I want to see her. Now."

  The wicker creaked as Priscus squirmed in the chair and glanced at Bassus. "Under the circumstances," he said, "I could perhaps arrange release of the girl on receipt of immediate cash payment. With an additional sum as penalty for a missed deadline plus the cost of recovery."

  It was Bassus who demanded, "How much?" as Ruso said, "The girl. Now. You'll get the money first thing in the morning."

  "Oh dear, no, I'm afraid not. It has to be a simultaneous-"

  "Don't be ridiculous," snapped Ruso, wishing he had not lent all of his spare money to Stichus. "Nobody's going to walk around at night carrying that much cash. You've got my signature on the agreement. Just hand her over and you'll get your money in the morning."

  Bassus was shaking his head sadly. "He needs the money tonight, Doc. He's got a few debts to pay himself." He reached down into the chair and waved a writing tablet at Priscus. "Haven't you, sunshine?"

  Priscus sighed and looked up at Ruso as if hoping for support. "I have already explained," he said, "that the money is in long-term investments. I am not in a position to withdraw such investments without warning, and certainly not at this hour of the night."

  "Long-term investments? Hah! You've been feathering your nest!"

  "Bassus," said Ruso, feeling he should show more loyalty than he felt, "you're talking to an officer. Watch what you're saying."

  "I know what I'm saying." Bassus lifted his legs and gave the table a swift kick. It toppled over. The crash as it landed on the tiles echoed around the room. "Oops," he said, "there goes another long-term investment."

  Priscus sprang to his feet
. "Really! I must protest!"

  Bassus moved surprisingly fast for such a heavy man. The chair skidded backward on the tiles as Priscus landed in it, gasping for breath.

  "Now listen to me, you scraggy-faced runt," growled Bassus, "me and Stich, we work our balls off out there, and we don't get nothing from you except trouble and promises."

  Ruso looked from one to the other of them, baffled. He had assumed Bassus was collecting a debt. Why would Merula's doormen be expecting anything from Priscus?

  Bassus was thrusting the writing tablet forward so that it was almost touching Priscus's nose. "There it is, see? All written down. All agreed. My retirement fund. You told us it was there."

  "It is there."

  "Good. Because I want it now. And if you don't hand it over, I'll have the girl instead."

  "The girl is the property of the Aesculapian Thanksgiving Fund!" insisted Priscus. "She's legionary business."

  "Legionary business, huh? I'll bet the legion don't know how much it's chipped in to the cost of this place. Where is she?"

  "She's not here."

  Bassus leaned forward and hauled Priscus out of the chair. He was saying, "Well, tell me where she is and we'll go and get her, shall we?" but Ruso was not listening. He was moving toward the sound that had just turned his stomach. It was the muffled sound of a woman screaming.

  It was the shrill, tormented shriek of a woman in terrible pain. By the time he burst into Priscus's bedroom it had stopped. There was nobody in the room. Just the empty bed, a few cupboards too small to hide a prisoner, and…

  He stepped forward and tugged aside the curtain covering part of the back wall. This should surely have been the rear boundary of the property, but instead of blank plaster there was a door. It had already been forced: The lock was hanging loose. As he dragged it open, another scream filled his ears.

  The dark space in front of him seemed to be a corridor. "Tilla!" he yelled, heading toward faint streaks of light that marked a doorway. "Tilla!" He collided with something that fell over with a crash of broken crockery. It barely masked the screaming. Holy gods, what were they doing to her?

  "Leave her alone!" he roared.